Secret Little Rendezvous
by everlovingdeer
Summary: "Vell, wot answer vold you give?" No answer was better than that question. When I didn't answer him right away, he lifted his head and regarded me closely, "If the reporters asked vot relationship we shared, vot answer vold you give?"
1. Secret Little Rendezvous

Magical law had always interested me. Even in school as we studied magical regulations and rulings, my mind always lingered on why certain laws came to pass and why certain people won their trials and others lost them. My friends had teased me that magical law was where my Slytherin ambition came into play; in the courtroom and defending my clients. But, the problem lied in the few occasions where my client wasn't innocent. If my client was innocent, it was easy to convince the jury, to make the judge understand and when I won the case - and with a high success rate I had- I was pleased, and satisfied that I was making an actual difference to my client's lives. The issue was when my clients were guilty -

When my clients were guilty and were obviously guilty, then I had to become an actor, one that could weave such a skilled performance that a defendant that was so clearly guilty, simply could not have been guilty. Or could not have been proven to be guilty. I won those cases as well because it was my job. And the bittersweetness of the win lingered with me until the next case arrived on my desk and I had to push it aside so I could focus on the new one. My colleagues that had been working on this job for far longer than I had, insisted that it got better. I couldn't be so sure if they got better at handling it, or if they got better at pushing it away.

"How am I supposed to defend this arsehole?" I asked aloud, stretching my hands above my head to ease the ache in my back. I must have spent hours studying the case papers, hunched over and cross-legged on the sofa to try and adjust my moral compass that so many people were certain Slytherins did not possess.

Sighing, I dropped my arms and picked up the papers that had fallen onto my lap. Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I leaned against the back of my sofa, settling down once more to look over the sketchy details of the incident that the defendant, my client had given me.

"Salazar, he's making this easy for the prosecution," I mumbled under my breath, thumbing one page and turning it over to read the back.

Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the back of the sofa and summarised what I knew; my client was being tried for the murder of his sister because she had been caught dating my client's so-called enemy. My client lied - shockingly badly for a murderer - that his sister was so mortified at being caught that she turned her wand to her own head and cast a bombarda. If he was going to give me such a hard case, he at least needed to improve his lying skills because Salazar's soul, I saw right through him in our first meeting. He was going to be an easy target for the prosecution.

"Maybe I should've become a prosecutor."

Sighing again, I lifted my head, tucking the papers back into the case folder and spelling it shut. Lifting my glasses, I rubbed at my tired eyes before replacing them again. I had wasted hours trying to mount a defence and was struggling because I really didn't want to defend him; truthfully, I didn't even want to be in the same room as him. Maybe I'd consult my coworkers and see if they could make sense of the situation I found myself in.

Deciding that I'd earned myself a break, I rose from the sofa and winced when my knees cracked from having been stuck in one position for so long. Walking to the kitchen, I filled the kettle and switched it on, rifling through the cupboard for my green tea. Putting a bag into my mug, I waited for the water to boil, drumming my fingers against the countertop. The very last thing I wanted right now was to stop thinking about the case, to actually use my break to relax, but it was all I could think about.

A knock on the door broke me from my unwanted thoughts, bringing a scowl to my face. Glancing at the clock on my way to the door, I wondered who it could be. Peeking through the peephole, it took me less than a second to realise who stood on the other side and then I was opening the front door, paying no heed to the kettle that was whistling behind me. Making a show of peering out into the hallway of my apartment complex, I grabbed my visitor by the hand and forcefully drew him into my flat. If he didn't want to move, then he wouldn't have but he followed me nonetheless, coming into my flat and dragging his suitcase alongside him. Dropping his hand, I shut my front door and locked it, realising the kettle was still ringing.

Glancing away from my visitor, I levitated the kettle off of the stove and then glanced sharply back to my companion who was watching me with a carefree smile. As if it was normal for him to be here and waiting outside my flat. Merlin, I had no idea he was even in the country.

"Viktor," I said, shaking my head when his hands reached out to seek my waist. Catching his hands and holding them steady in my own, I asked, "How can you just walk around without a care in the world? What if someone happened to see you?"

"No one did," he said simply, smiling at my incredulous expression.

"Viktor."

"No one saw me so vot is the problem?" he asked once more, removing his hands from mine and making a move to take my face in his hands.

Ducking out of his way and watching as his smile widened at the gesture, I pulled at his suitcase and drew it further into the flat. Abandoning it beside the front room, I walked into the kitchen, knowing that he was following me steadily, step for step and biding his time.

"What training are you here for this time?" Pouring the boiling water into my mug, I knew better than to offer Viktor any tea or coffee. He chose not to drink any; depending on how long he was going to stay here, I might have to pick up some chai tea because that was the only tea I'd managed to wean him onto.

"It's voluntary. To train new seekers." Walking into the kitchen, Viktor crossed the space between us, coming to a still in front of me. "I vonted to see you."

"Charmer," I complained, even as a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Salazar, why was I even trying to fight the smile, it would only break out in the end. "How long are you here for?"

"Long enough." He knew his vague answer would only prompt questions from me, and he seemed to have the knack of always prompting more questions from me. But before I could say anything, he reached out a gentle hand, and tapped the frame of my glasses, "Are these new?"

Realising that I was wearing my glasses and that he'd never seen them before because I made sure to wear contacts around him, I reached up to remove them. They weren't exactly the flattering sort of glasses, the sort that complimented facial structure or -

"I like them," he cut in, breaking the rambling in my head.

Without another word, he took my chin in his hands and tilted my head towards him, kissing me like I knew he'd wanted to from the moment he'd entered my home. It was a chaste kiss, one definitely shorter than he wanted it to be, I pulled away from him with a smile. He was just the distraction I needed.

* * *

The next morning found me greeted by an alarm clock even though I didn't have to go into work today. Groaning aloud and burrowing my face in my pillow, I internally complained about why the hell I had to decide to fix my sleep schedule as part of my new year's resolutions. But, I wasn't the only occupant in the bed and I wasn't the only one complaining about the alarm. Leaning up on my elbows, I reached across Viktor as he slept soundly beside me, even as his arm tightened around my waist, trying to keep my body heat against his own. Outstretching my fingers to turn my alarm off, I dropped once more back into the comfort of my own bed.

I usually didn't allow myself to linger for long because I knew it would coax me back to sleep. But I stayed in the bed for a little longer, just to study Viktor as he continued to sleep soundly at my side, even if his hand did reach out to try and find me as I drew away. He snored still, but it was slight, almost like a white noise that managed to ease me to sleep. Relieved that it hadn't gotten worse like his Healers were worried it would, I finally got out of the bed.

Slipping into my robe, I glanced over my shoulder in amusement at Viktor who finally groaned and grumbled at my disappearance. Tightening the belt of my robe, I laughed slightly when he let his head fall face-first into the pillow.

"Too early," he complained, his words muffled.

"You have training," I reminded him, leaning over the bed just so I could run a hand through the hair I'd spent a majority of last night messing up. Even now, I could still see the traces of my fingers in the way parts of his hair stuck up in all directions. Dropping a kiss to his shoulder, I murmured against his skin, "I'm using the shower first."

"Vait for me," he called out, even as he showed no signs of moving.

"Neither of us needs to be distracted like that," I said knowingly, approaching my cupboard and taking out my clothes.

Walking out of my bedroom and into the bathroom, I took a quick shower and changed into my fresh clothes. Washing my face and brushing my teeth, I snagged my glasses from the sink where I'd left them the night before and headed into the kitchen. I didn't realise it until I was partway through making breakfast, but I was actively listening out for the sound of Viktor moving around my home and when I finally heard him groan and lift himself from the bed followed shortly by the sound of the running shower, I was content. All thoughts of my case had flittered away from my mind with no signs of appearing from the moment he arrived. Despite the issues I was facing at work, he was all I needed to feel content. Salazar's soul, I still didn't know how to feel about that.

Dismissing the thought for when I was alone and when I could think it through on my own time, I returned to the meal I was supposed to be making. I timed it perfectly, plating up the last of the food and bringing it to the table in time for Viktor to arrive in the kitchen. Lifting the plates, I watched as he navigated his way through the kitchen, knowing just where to find the mugs.

"You are way too comfortable in my flat," I remarked without any heat, returning the smile he shot one from over his shoulder.

"You never move anything, everything is always in same place." Turning away from me, to my surprise, he reached for the cupboard where I stored my tea and coffee. Making a point of not looking into the cupboard, he drew out the coffee and sent me a pointed look as if to say 'See, you're a creature of habit'. He didn't even notice my alarm that he wasn't being a creature of habit.

"I thought you didn't drink coffee?" Watching him like he had just decided to introduce himself as a vampire, I struggled to understand. "You hate the taste of it?"

"I do," he agreed, dropping back to press a lingering kiss to my lips. He held me close to him, regretfully drawing back when the kettle that I'd set up minutes before finally whistled. With a final kiss to my lips, he drew back and made two cups of coffee. Even as Viktor made his own cup, I could see the deep scowl on his face at the prospect of drinking it, "I hate coffee but sometimes I haff to drink it vhether I vont to drink it or not."

Scoffing, "Big baby," I grabbed our plates and headed towards the table. Setting the plates down and accepting the coffee from Viktor, I took a long sip. Realising that he was watching me, I assured him, "Perfect."

Satisfied and so easily reassured, he grinned. Digging into his breakfast, Viktor uncharacteristically picked at his food. I watched him silently, making no move to eat yet, as I watched him. I wondered if his tastes had changed, if he no longer liked scrambled eggs or if I'd made them wrong in some way. But, as he continued to sneak glances at me from beneath his lashes, I was reassured that it wasn't my food that was the issue.

"Viktor?" I prompted, setting my mug aside and reaching out for his hand. Cradling it gently, I held his eyes, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Seeing that I was unconvinced, he said, "Training vill finish at 4 O'clock. I should be back not soon after."

"At least you won't have a long day." There was still more he wanted to say and because there was still more, I continued to watch him. Even when he turned his hand beneath mine so it faced upward and linked our fingers together. Waiting patiently and holding my silence, I was content to listen.

"After training, ve could do something? Go somevhere?" Ah. Lifting my hand from his, I pretend to use it to fidget with my glasses, thinking of something to say. What could I say? Especially when he was looking at me so earnestly, waiting for me to answer his question. "You do not vant to?"

"It's not that," I insisted truthfully, hoping he understood. I wasn't so sure he did. Murmuring gently, I struggled for words, "It's not that - really, Viktor. It's just … every time you come and see me, we don't really do stuff. I mean, we -"

Helplessly, and uncharacteristically unable to string the end of my sentence together, I gestured in the direction of my bedroom. Holding my eyes and not saying anything for a moment, he nodded and looked back to his food. It hadn't been my intention and I hadn't wanted to do it, but I'd hurt him. He had been the one to move forward in this … relationship - was this a relationship? - and to make it something it wasn't, and yet, when faced with the reality of what we'd shared, it didn't feel quite right to me.

"Maybe you can think about it?" he said eventually, unwilling to meet my eyes. "Vot about that?"

"Ok," I said softly, finally looking away from him.

* * *

In the end, when Viktor returned home - to my flat, not home - I had already made up my mind. Truthfully, my mind had been made up even before he had headed out for the morning and I used the rest of our separation in order to come up with excuses that would convince him. Viktor wasn't the sort of person to push if I had said no, it would have been enough, but I knew he would carry around the rejection until he eventually left - whenever that would be. He certainly hadn't told me when he was leaving.

Despite what he might have thought, I enjoyed spending time with him. Some of the fondest memories I had of my flat, despite having lived here for years and despite being away from him for almost 90% of the time, my fondest memories were of my time with him.

When it drew close to the time for his return, I remained in the front room, sitting on the arm of my sofa and waiting with my eyes on the door. I had to handle the situation properly or else I'd wind up with a frowning dispirited Bulgarian in my home.

The door opened, with Viktor entering using the spare key I'd given him before he left this morning, not wanting him to linger in the hallway waiting for me to let him in and happening to get caught. He made it a few steps into the flat, lugging his changing bag behind him, before he stopped still, surprised at finding me there waiting for him. Greeting him with the sort of smile that he'd once confessed, whilst half asleep, that could bring him to his knees, I was grateful when he returned it with one of his own.

"Tired?" I asked, standing when he sent his changing bag away with a wave of his wand and approached me.

"Not too tired," he assured me, kissing me on the lips. Drawing back and smiling down at me, he said, "Let me shower and then -"

"Remember when you promised to teach me how to make Gyuvech? Because I loved it when you made it for me?" Trailing off meaningfully, I watched as his face clouded over, but he understood. Reaching out and clutching his hand, I maintained my smile and made a show of pressing my nose into the crook of his neck. Like I knew it would, his hand came up to cradle my head closer to him. "I even bought the ingredients and the pots specially."

"Vell I cannot say no to that, Takahashi?" he said, trying to make it sound like he wasn't saddened. But he was. If he hadn't been, my surname would have easily been replaced by skupa, - dear.

Reluctantly drawing back from Viktor, I watched as he headed away in the direction of the bathroom. My eyes lingered on his back for a long moment, as my feet refused to move. But then, needing to make it up to him in some way - even if it was a small way, I headed to the kitchen and started to wash all the ingredients. When they were washed, I just looked at them, unable to think of where to begin. Stretching my arms above my head, I considered them as if they were precious potions ingredients; I really didn't want to be a hindrance -

Hands, warm and calloused, circled my waist, settled on the skin that was bared by my stretching. Startling and turning towards Viktor, my shoulders brushed his chest. But he wasn't looking at me, he was considering the ingredients I'd washed.

"Did I get everything?" I asked hesitantly, staring up into his face even as he didn't look down at me.

"You haff bought everything." He finally ducked his head down then, giving me a brief fleeting smile.

Before I could say anything else, he effortlessly lifted me onto the counter, murmuring for me to stay put and watch as he worked. Viktor, snagging my apron and tying it around his waist, washed his hands and dried them on a nearby tea towel.

"Viktor?" I started softly, pushing myself further back on the counter so I was comfortable. He made a humming sound, not even needing to look through the cupboards to know where to get a chopping board and knife from. "If we went outside together, it wouldn't be practical. We'd have no time together." Although he said nothing, I watched his shoulders tense, but I continued nonetheless, "We'd be surrounded by reporters wondering what relationship we share."

He gave no response. The only sounds that filled the room was the sound of the stove and the knife against the chopping board. My statements settled into the air, wrapping the both of us in this moment and my eyes were rooting onto Viktor's profile as he worked, hoping that he would say something. Anything.

"Vell, wot answer vold you give?" No answer was better than that question. When I didn't answer him right away, he lifted his head and regarded me closely, "If the reporters asked vot relationship we shared, vot answer vold you give?"

What answer could I possibly give when I myself didn't know what relationship we shared? Viktor didn't look at me even as the silence lengthened, and I still didn't answer him. Outwardly he appeared content to continue cooking, murmuring the next steps of the recipe under his voice in his native tongue. It was only when he neared the end of the recipe that I gained the courage to speak again.

"Viktor?" I called out his name softly, watching as he put the pots on a baking tray, lifting the tray to slide it into the oven.

He crouched in front of the oven, checking the settings, giving me a quick look when I said nothing, "Vot?"

"What answer would you have liked me to give? Hypothetically?"

Holding my eyes for just a little longer, he averted his eyes once more and looked back to the oven with a shrug. Checking one last time, he straightened up to his full height and crossed the space between us. Coming to a still between my parted thighs, Viktor caught my hips and pulled me towards the edge until I was pressed up against him.

"My mother asked about you," he said softly, reaching a hand up to push the hair away from my face, searching my eyes that had widened in obvious surprise.

"You told - did you tell your mother about me?"

"I did," he said it so simply that I was almost convinced that I was the strange one - that it wasn't weird for him to tell his mum about - whoever I was to him. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to my shoulder as he said, "It needs to stay in the oven for two hours."

"Two hours?" I echoed faintly, my mind unable to move forward from him telling his mother about me.

When he drew back, I was quick to school my facial expression, looking expectantly into his eyes. Viktor's smile curled at his lips, flirty and enthralling as he asked, "I vonder vot ve can do to fill that time?"

* * *

It was always the same; Viktor appeared in my life like a whirlwind, pulling me away from the banality of daily life and I could lose myself in him. Even when I returned home from work, he was sitting and waiting in the flat for me and just having someone there to welcome me when I came home was something that I could've easily gotten used to. But I did my very best not to get used to it, and quite often wound up hurting Viktor's feelings because of it, but it was the only smart thing to do.

At the end of the day, regardless of how much we shared or how comfortable we grew around one another, at the end he would leave. When the time came, he would have to leave and return to Bulgaria, to his real life. In his life, I was just a pit stop - a brief holiday - from his real life problems and in my life he was a much-needed respite. That was all it was ever going to be.

And now, as we sat cross-legged across from one another, the time to say goodbye had come again. It was never something we improved upon or got better at. No matter how many times we had to separate from one another, it was just as tough and uncertain as we were the very first time. There were still so many unanswered questions; when he was going to come back, if we were going to see each other again and even if he wanted for us to see each other again. Parting was an inevitability of our strange arrangement and yet, a reunion was never guaranteed.

"Skupa," he coaxed softly, voice lowered, bringing me from my thoughts and making me lift my head from where I'd been absentmindedly watching my hands as they picked at the blanket beneath me.

"Viktor?" I asked, searching out his eyes. He was sitting cross-legged against the headboard, holding his pillow - only it wasn't his pillow, was it? - over his lap. His eyes were on mine, watching as I sat with my legs stretched out in front of me at the foot of the bed.

"Vot are you thinking about?" Rising onto his knees, he set his pillow aside and approached me until he was sitting at my side. He shucked my chin gently, trying to get me to look at him and rewarding me with a gentle smile when I finally did. "Vell?"

"I'm not really thinking of anything," I tried to insist, falling silent when he gave me a look that told me exactly what he thought about that. He preferred when I spoke my mind when I was Slytherin enough to speak my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to bring my questions out into the open air. Not only did I dread the answers I received, but I wasn't sure I was prepared for the answers he would give me. "I've been lumped with a couple of new cases at work, so my mind is running everywhere."

"Hmm." Reaching out to catch my hand from where I was still fidgeting with the blanket. Cradling it softly between both of his hands, he set about massaging it softly as if I was the athlete in need of bringing some relief to aching muscles.

Watching him with a lump in my throat, I swallowed thickly and held my silence. Satisfied that he'd eased an imaginary ache there, Viktor linked our fingers together, using his free hand to encase the back of my hand. His hand, strong and calloused and tanned from hundreds of hours of practice, held my own like it was one of the most important things he'd ever held.

"Viktor - "It was almost enough to give me the courage I needed. Almost but never quite enough.

Like he knew where my thoughts were, he lifted his head and smiled with his eyes. He held my gaze and filled in the silence, vocalising my earlier thoughts, "I hate this part."

Although I knew what he meant, I asked, "This part?"

"Saying goodbye." His smile saddened, but he held it nonetheless. "I don't like haffing to leave you behind. Not ven I haffn't been here long enough."

"We had almost a week -"

He lifted my hand to his mouth, kissing it and speaking against his skin, "Still not long enough."

Unable to say what I really wanted to say, I instead drew my hand away from him. From behind me, I heard Viktor sigh, even as I stood from the bed and fidgeted with the case files that I had brought home from work.

"What time do you have to leave tomorrow?" I asked, my back to him as I gathered the folders into a stack and put them into my work bag.

"Early." His vague answer had me turning to look at him, finding Viktor's eyes on me as I continued to get my things ready for work in the morning. "Probably before you vake up for vork in the morning."

"I could," I held my tongue, setting my work bag down by my dresser. Clearing my throat and turning to address Viktor properly, I offered, "I could go with you in the morning? To see you off?"

"You don't need to." Approaching the bed and getting ready to sleep, I tried not to let him see how hurt I was by his rejection; it might not have seemed like a real offer, but it had been real. And it took a lot to bring myself to that point of asking him. Yet, I didn't want him to know that. Folding back the blanket, I slid into the bed with Viktor standing and preparing to join me. Adjusting his pillow, he amended, "There's no reason for you to vake up earlier than you need to. I know your vork is tough."

"Ok."

Lying down and tucking the blanket under my chin, I laid on my side facing Viktor who was settled on his side as well, even though he usually slept on his back. His eyes, lingering and heavy, flickered over my features as if he was taking the time to memorise my face like he was going to forget what I looked like if he didn't. Unable to match his eyes and worried that he would see past my indifference, I closed my eyes.

A heavy arm looped around my waist, drawing me against Viktor. Burrowing my nose into his shoulder and breathing out deeply, I returned his embrace, feigning as if I was close to sleep. Not even when I heard Viktor give a tentative call of my name before one of his fingers traced the side of my face, pushing my hair away. The warmth of him lulled me quickly to sleep.

Later, after what felt like mere minutes, but from the clock I knew hours had passed, I was woken up by the mattress moving beneath me. Peeking open an eye and protesting with a groan when I found myself deprived of the Viktor's body warmth, I was tempted to sit up and help him to make sure that he had everything I needed.

Even before I could sit up, he tucked the blanket properly around me, leaning over me and kissing my forehead. He lingered a moment longer, speaking against my hairline, "Sleep, skupa. I vill see you later."

I was too tired to fight against the suggestion, falling asleep the moment Viktor had straightened up to change into his clothes.

* * *

Faced with an increase in caseloads, I was once more forced to work from home with all my papers spread around me as I sat on the floor of my front room. Having pushed the furniture to the outer sides of the room, I sat with my hair piled away from my face and my glasses perched on my nose. The kettle, already boiling in the kitchen, was the only sound I was listening out for as I looked through the paperwork for my cases.

The murder case with my clearly guilty client, left a foul taste in my mouth but the first court date had been a positive one - not quite a victory, but a step in the right direction for my wallet. Not for my morality. Salazar, just remembering the letters I'd had from people who rightfully supported his conviction were almost constantly streaming into my office to demand how I could even try to defend him. Was I trying to defend him or was I trying to exploit the flaws in the legal system and to get him a lesser sentence? I was so tempted to shift the case onto one of my colleagues - wasn't Macmillan a defence lawyer? Did he need any new cases?

"Who am I kidding? He was too Hufflepuff to defend someone who's so obviously guilty." Sighing, I lifted my glasses from my eyes, propping them on the top of my head.

Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I rubbed away the ache. Returning my glasses to their position, I pulled my quill out from the bun where I'd shoved it away to ensure I didn't accidentally knock it away and stain important documents. Unscrewing the top of the inkwell, I dipped it into the black ink, carefully wiping off the excess and signed my name at the bottom of a form requesting access to evidence for the upcoming trial.

Tucking the paper into the relevant case file to file tomorrow morning first thing when I got to work, I summoned the next case file when the kettle whistled. Standing up and groaning at the tingling in my dead legs, I shook them slowly to regain sensation in them, before walking to the kitchen. Lifting the kettle from the stove, I set it aside and searched out a chamomile tea bag and put it into the mug. Pouring the water into the mug, I covered the mug with a saucer and carried it into the front room. Setting it down on the coffee table that had been pushed up under the window, I returned to the position I had abandoned.

Looking back to the next case file I needed to consult, I drew out the papers and read through everything slowly. Thank Merlin, I thought as I made it to the end of the first page; it was a fairly open and shut divorce case. The couple, who both had their own fair share - more than their fair share - of extramarital affairs were calling an end to their decade-old marriage. Thankfully they were willing to divide everything in half - save for the child that they both wanted sole custody of. So perhaps it wasn't quite so open and shut.

"It's going to be a bloodbath," I despaired, having seen enough of these so-called amicable divorces dissolve into attempts to hurt the other person in order to get sole custody of the children involved in the marriage. Already, my client, the wife who insisted she had suffered worse hurt than any hurt she'd inflicted upon her husband, already gave a list of the ammunition she had against him. Drawing the paper out and looking over just what the husband had gotten up to, I gave a low whistle.

"Merlin, Mr Williams, how in Salazar's name are you ever going to get custody if even half of this is true?"

Shaking my head and reaching for my diary, I made a note to schedule an appointment with the still Mrs Williams. Taking a break, for now, I tucked the papers back in and stood up. Returning to my tea, I placed the saucer down on the coffee table, removed the tea bag by the string and put it on the saucer. Sitting on the small table and crossing my legs under me, I took a small sip and reached for the newspaper I walked out of my way to pick up on my way home.

Flicking past the front page with news regarding the UK's Quidditch news, I searched each page quickly until I stumbled across what I was looking for. The international Quidditch section of the newspaper was densely packed and I took time to read each and every section in case my haste led to my skipping past what I was really looking for.

I found it eventually. There was a short article about Viktor's last game, with specific mentions of his performance because he was the most internationally well-known of the teammates. Beside the title of the report, was a picture of Viktor, taken during his victory lap of the stadium and his smile had me smiling as if I hadn't been tired minutes ago. Finally looking away from the picture, I returned my attention to the report and read through it. His team had won the game, although it was a hard-won match with multiple injuries on both sides. Thankfully Viktor wasn't one of the players that had been hurt, even if he'd performed multiple wronski feints throughout the match - how many times did I have to tell him not to do those?

Dismissing the concerned thought, I read on to the end of the article; because his team had won the match, they were moving onto the next stage of the Bulgarian championships. For now, though, the team had a couple of weeks to rest up whilst the other teams competed to see who would make it to the next stage. The time would do Viktor some good, he could relax and at least physically recuperate before he was once more on the pitch.

Closing the newspaper, I set it aside and returned my attention to my tea which had rapidly cooled and was still a little lukewarm. Drinking it down with large gulps, I surveyed my papers and was relieved to find that there was very little I still had to look over. The sooner I got to work, the sooner I could be done for the night. But, as I went to hop off of the coffee table, I was startled by the sound of an owl pecking at the window behind me.

Twisting around towards the window, I recognised the tawny owl because of how often it appeared in my window. Leaning up to open the window, I beckoned the owl in from the rain and it was quick to comply. Dropping the envelope onto the coffee table, it flew towards the flaming fireplace and stood before it, drying off before it would have to set off flying again.

Picking up the letter, I broke the seal at the back and started to read through it as I walked into my room to recover the owl treats I kept specially. I barely made it a sentence or two in before I made it to my room and gave up multitasking. Shaking out the treats into my open palm, I returned to the front room and offered them to the owl which ate straight out of my palm. Sitting down beside the owl, I finally read through the letter as the owl hopped onto my knee.

Absentmindedly stroking the back of its head with a single finger, I read over Adrian's letter with quickly moving eyes. He claimed there was a member of his team who wanted to go on a date with me - was bugging him to set one up - and I shook my head. I knew he wouldn't be content with a single negative reply because Adrian wouldn't accept a simple no - he was too much of a busybody. Especially if his teammate was bugging him as he claimed.

"I don't have the time to reply to Adrian," I said apologetically, speaking to Adrian's owl who shook its feather's out as if irritated. But, without waiting for something else, it flew out of the still open window.

Standing and closing the window, I set the letter aside. I'd have to find the time to write to Adrian and I knew he'd want to arrange a meetup if only to catch up because we hadn't spoken in ages. Maybe I'd stop by the Auror department sometime this week when I was visiting the Ministry for work? For now, I had papers to read over.

* * *

The divorce settlement was taking far longer than I'd originally planned it would. Mrs Williams, for all the dirt she'd given me on her soon to be ex-husband, hadn't seen fit to inform me that there was just the same amount of dirt on her. Really, it was any wonder either of them believed they were going to get sole custody or even any form of custody over their child. Without the custody issue being solved, this case wasn't going to be finished any time soon and it was only going to devolve into more of a mess. Already, Mrs Williams had gone on a slander spree, causing Mr Williams to lose business and it appeared likely that Mr Williams was going to sue her for defamation and ruining his reputation.

When I'd left home early in the morning, I'd left it with the hope that by the end of the day we would have reached some sort of settlement and things would finally be underway. But, the meeting between both parties had turned into a shouting match with both Mr and Mrs Williams leaning across the table as they tried to pinpoint the earliest infidelity on one another. It was so bad that I returned home with a headache pounding behind my eyes.

Finally getting home after a long day at work, I shut the door behind me and kicked my shoes off and flexed my toes into the carpet. Breathing out deeply to lift the tension from my shoulders and to leave it at the front door, I walked further into my flat. On my way to my bedroom, I passed the coffee table and found the stack of letters waiting for responses. In the morning I'd originally planned to reply to them when I got home but now it was the last thing I wanted to do. But I'd have to do it regardless.

Changing out of my work clothes into my lazy home clothes, I spelled my hair away from my face, spearing the haphazard bun through with my wand to keep it in place. Snagging a quill and inkwell from my desk, I walked back to the front room. Sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, I glanced at the clock; the food I'd ordered on my way back from work should arrive soon. If only to fill my time, I picked the first letter from the top of the stack, remembering that I still had to reply to Adrian.

Summoning parchment and replying to the first letter, I made it to the end of the parchment and signed my name. Reaching for an envelope, I folded the parchment and put it inside. Melting some wax over the seal, I winced when some of the hot wax landed on my finger. Ignoring it for now, I stamped over the wax and set it aside to dry. Only then did I flick the dried wax off from my finger and raised it to my mouth, soothing the lingering burn with my tongue. You'd think, given all the times Viktor had warned me about scalding myself with hot wax that I would -

Shaking my head to dismiss the intrusive thought of Viktor that as always, were a part of my life during the first week after our separation, I forced myself to focus once more on the letters that I needed to do. It would fade away, eventually. It always did.

Steadily, I made my way through most of the stack, taking my time to respond to each one and putting them into the envelopes. Tomorrow, on my way to the apparition point, I'd stop by the owling office and send off in one big bulk. As I went to reach for the next letter, I was stopped by knocking on the door. Looking at the clock and knowing it was my food, I leapt from my position with anticipation. My stomach was already rumbling.

Walking to the front door, I reached for the money that I'd already counted out and stashed in my trouser pockets. Opening the door, words of thanks died on my tongue as I found myself looking up into Viktor's face.

"Salazar's soul, what are you doing here?" I asked, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him into the flat before someone happened to see him.

"I don't haff a match until next month," he said as if it was a reasonable explanation to suddenly appear without even a word of warning. Which, now that I thought about it, seemed to be happening with increasing regularity.

"But don't you have training or something?" Shutting the front door and leaning against it, I looked over Viktor and saw that he had a small overnight bag with him. I would've called it presumptuous, but we both knew that now he was here I wasn't going to be sending him away. "It's the middle of the season."

"I do haff training," he agreed, walking towards my front room to sit on the sofa. It took some time but I followed after him, listening as he explained, "Next veek training begins. For now, ve have three days off."

"Right," I said faintly, watching from my perch on the arm of the sofa as Viktor reached curiously for the stack of letters. He wasn't doing it to be nosey, rather avoid the unasked questions in my eyes. He needed the time until he'd gathered whatever he'd wanted to say and given that he'd travelled from Bulgaria - seemingly on a whim - he should have known with what intention he came here.

Whatever thoughts he was trying to gather in his head, it seemed they faded away when his head snapped suddenly towards me, surprised by the contents of whatever letter he held in his hand.

"Viktor?"

"You are going on a date?"

"What?" I reached for the letter and Viktor readily relinquished it. Of course, with my luck, the first letter he picked up would be the one from Adrian. Of bloody course.

Clearly my silence grew too long and Viktor turned to face me, holding my eyes when I lifted my eyes from the letter. Before I could say a word, he said hesitantly, "Do not go. I vish you vouldn't go."

"On the date? You don't want me to go on the date?" I double-checked, cursing the timing when there was a knock on the door. "Just - just give me a minute."

Backing away from him and only looking away from him when there was no other choice, I got to the front door and opened it. Exchanging minimal pleasantries with the delivery boy, I handed him the money, accepted my food and brought it back to see Viktor. Viktor whose eyes were already there for my own when I turned back to him. Silently, setting the bag of food on the coffee table, I waited for him to say something.

"I don't vont you to go on a date vith someone else." He admitted softly, his eyes on my face and making reference of each of my expressions. "I vont to be the one going on dates vith you."

"I wasn't -" Gesturing to the letter, I explained, "I wasn't going to say yes. From the beginning, I wasn't going to go on the date. I didn't want to go on a date with someone else either."

Extending a slow hand, Viktor caught my hand and held it steady as I continued to stand above him. Holding my hand and drawing me towards him, he made me sit next to him, cradling my hand and not seeming able to meet my eyes. Instead, he was focusing all his attention on our hands.

"I vont to be the only person you go on dates vith - even if ve're trapped inside the entire time." His confession was so gentle that I almost doubted I heard it.

"We can," I said, speaking over the voice of doubt in my head. "Once we're training and the next game is over, we can."

Viktor peered up at me from beneath his lashes, a teasing smile greeting me, "Not before?"

"And have your team hate me because you're distracted?" Scoffing and returning his smile, I was adamant. "No chance, Krum."


	2. Epilogue: 1 Year Later

1 YEAR LATER

Being with a Quidditch player was the strangest thing. During the season they were off doing an insane amount of training consisting of hours-long training sessions, a ridiculous exercise routine and a very strict diet. It was hard enough being with a Quidditch player but to be dating one who for the majority of the year was stationed in a different country was even more ridiculously difficult. Long-distance was a pain in the arse, and during the Quidditch season, it was much worse. And now with the Quidditch World Cup upon us again, it was even worse. Viktor had offered for me to tag along like a groupie, but he insisted that other player's families often did that to deal with not seeing each other for so long. But I had work, and not the sort of work I could abandon to spend the time with me. (And there really was such a thing as too much Quidditch, regardless of what Viktor said).

Although, I did make a point to attend his games to cheer him one. And Salazar, the British media had picked up on it all too quickly, claiming that I was disloyal to the English team. I'd long since abandoned entertaining the British sports reporters who often camped outside of my home to get an interview out of me - as if practically barricading me into my flat was going to get me to speak to them. I told Viktor this would happen - that everyone would stick their noses into our business and yet -

Raucous cheers brought me from my thoughts, making me look up in surprise. Searching the stadium from the warded and guarded friends and family booth, I realised that the teams were beginning to make their entry. The Bulgarian team had yet to make an appearance and yet, I was already on the edge of my seat and waiting for Viktor to arrive. I had to keep an eye on him, to make sure that he wasn't injured because during his last game he'd taken a bludger to the head and despite the Healer's insistence that he was safe to play, I wasn't so sure. In fact, I was certain he'd commandeered the Healer into giving him the all-clear. His team were certainly glad he was playing. Once he made his mind up about something, there was just no stopping him.

"Miss Takahashi?" the call of my name had me looking away from the pitch for only a second, spying one of the team member's husbands as he walked towards me. Shuffling down the bench, I made space for the French man who settled easily next to me and handed me a drink, "I thought you might be thirsty."

"Thank you," I said with a smile, realising that I'd been stuffing my face with salty pretzels to appease my anxiety and really could do with some water. Offering the french man some of my pretzels, I set the bag between us and opened the water bottle and took a much-needed sip. "Nervous?"

"Perhaps more nervous than the team," he laughed, rubbing his hands together nervously as the Bulgarian team finally made their entrance.

The team who was widely regarded as the front runners brought an even larger round of cheers from the spectators. My companion leapt from his seat, watching his wife with such a big smile that I would've believed that he wasn't one of the people who had abandoned his life to follow his wife on this journey. Looking away from him, my eyes sought out Viktor who brought up the rear and was flying with such ease that it brought a relieved smile to my face. Maybe I was worried for nothing, maybe he hadn't needed to strong-arm the team's Healer after all.

The team's lap of the stadium brought them near the booth full of their loved ones and everyone was on their feet, anticipating them and showing their support. I was one of the less flamboyant members of the packed booth, simply clapping as I stood whilst others around me actually screamed and shouted as if their lives depended on it. But I knew, without having to check, that Viktor knew I cared for him and I supported him. I just didn't need to make a scene about it.

Sitting down once more, I crossed my legs at the ankle and waited for him the game to begin. For now, the two teams had descended to the floor, standing in front of the referee and listening to a speech that I knew Viktor could recite off by heart - he certainly mumbled it sometimes in his sleep.

"You feel out of place as well," he started, eyes on the pitch and not looking at me as he spoke. When I said nothing, he finally glanced at me and gestured to the booth around us, "Among zhe ozzurr family?"

"Is it that obvious?" I asked hesitantly, glancing around the booth towards the other friends and family members of the team - all Bulgarian and all conversing with one another in Bulgarian as it was natural for them to do.

But I couldn't help but wonder if sometimes they were talking about me, given the way I'd catch glances thrown my way from the corner of their eyes. Apparently, Viktor was a well sought out bachelor, and people had taken their chances to try and set him up with their cousins, sisters, nieces etc. I was not an easily welcomed addition to the so-called family.

"I was in your position two months ago," he confessed, leaning in to give me a secret smile. "It's why I started to learn Bulgarian so I could learn what they were saying about me."

"And you're fluent?"

"Nowhere near," he snorted, and we turned our eyes to the pitch when the whistle was blown. "It'll get better. They just need time to get to know you and realise that you're here to stay."

"Well, that can't come quick enough," I said and then we were silent, focusing on the match.

My eyes refused to stray from Viktor who was involved in a two-person race to catch that snitch because I knew that was what the Bulgarian team had planned - to get the snitch as soon as possible. Viktor was all too willing to comply with the wants of his captain and coach, throwing his body and pulling out a range of dangerous moves in his bid to reach the snitch first. My hands, clutched together in my lap, had long since turned numb from how tight I'd clenched them because he was throwing his body around as if he was bloody immortal.

When he finally caught the snitch, I was the most grateful and relieved of all the spectators in the booth. Dropping my head and rubbing my tired hands over my face and breathed out shakily. One of these days, he wasn't going to be able to pull away from the ground in time - whether it would be because of him, or because of his broom didn't matter to me. He did.

Lifting my head and watching as the team took a victory lap around the stadium, I finally let myself smile wide. Some of the team approached the booth, hauling their significant others or their children onto their brooms to do another round of the stadium. Viktor, who approached the booth, having spied me and knowing exactly how I would react to him trying to get me onto his broom in front of thousands of people, simply clambered over the railings and into the booth. Resting his broom against the railings, he approached me.

Drawing me into his chest with an arm around my waist, he dipped his head down to kiss me before I could say a thing. The kiss, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic given the age of some of the people in the booth, had me drawing back from him with my hands braced on his chest.

"Did you enjoy the game?" he asked, grinning widely.

"You and I need to talk about the importance of your body," I despaired, hearing his coach call out for him from the bottom of the pitch. They still needed to take their victory photos. Reluctantly pulling away from him and giving him a final kiss on his lips, I said, "Go, we can talk later."


End file.
